


Redemption Day

by tenshinokorin



Series: The World Can Wait [27]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Post-Game, The World Can Wait, bishonenink classics, no unsolicited concrit please, original game canon only, resurrection arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22574254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenshinokorin/pseuds/tenshinokorin
Summary: The reports of Zack's death have been greatly exaggerated. (Written circa 2000)
Relationships: Cloud Strife/Vincent Valentine, Zack Fair/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Sephiroth
Series: The World Can Wait [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622164
Comments: 1
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I've wept for those who suffer long  
>  But how I weep for those who've gone  
> Into rooms of grief and questioned wrong  
> But keep on killing  
> It's in the soul to feel such things  
> But weak to watch without speaking  
> Oh what mercy sadness brings  
> If god be willing  
> There is a train that's heading straight  
> To heaven's gate  
> And on the way, child and man  
> And woman wait, watch and wait  
> For redemption day_  
> -Sheryl Crow

_Before_.

"Yo Strife!" 

He stopped mid-step, looking around the crowded base until his eyes found the culprit, lolling out of the driver's side window and grinning. 

"You on leave today?" the speaker had to shout over the choleric rumble of the Shinra army-issue jeep, hanging his head and one arm out the side. 

Cloud knew speech would be useless, so he communicated his present off-duty status by a clever use of waving, nodding, and mostly by being out of uniform. 

"Get yer spiky butt over here!" 

Cloud jogged across the street, hopping the gatepost and swinging one leg over the jeep door. It would have been a perfect landing, except that his belt got hung on the rear-view and Zack had to haul him in the rest of the way via the scruff-of-neck and hand-on-backside method, dumping him in the passenger seat. "Geez, Strife. Am I gonna hafta watch your ass forever?" 

The jeep squealed out of base as Cloud was still sorting out up from down in the passenger seat, Zack tossing a wave to the sentry on duty. It was all the guard needed; members of SOLDIER were not questioned. Zack turned up the stereo with his music, loud jolting urban Midgar rock. He was a city boy, fast and sharp in all the ways Cloud wanted to be. 

"Well, not FOREVER." Cloud fumbled with the sun-visor, trying to keep from squinting. Zack, mako-eyes bright on the morning horizon, never even blinked. "Where're we going?" 

"Someplace fun, punk." Zack took his one steering hand off the wheel to ruffle cloud's hair affectionately, letting his knee do the driving for a minute. "An' put your belt on. Don't wanna hafta scrape you off the glass." 

  


_I do not approve of this. Is he salvageable?_

**We don't know. We will see if he can be repaired.**

_Be quick about it. He is one of the few strong ones._

**What about the other one?**

_Let the failure run away. He is weak. My son has no use for him. This one?_

**There are many holes. We are mending them.**

_Was the heart punctured?_

**We are looking... no. Repair status of lungs: complete. Drowning danger is nullified. Producing blood cells to compensate for loss.**

_Fools. They cannot even shoot a dead man. You see, children, how useless these humans are?_

**We see.**

_Will he survive?_

**He lives, however...**

_What?_

**He is permanently damaged, FirstOne. He will not be able to come to the Reunion. He will be of little help to the SecondOne.**

_My son does not need broken toys. This one is of no use._

**Shall we terminate?**

_...No. Remain there. He may yet be of use. Return to dormancy until called for._

**We shall do so, FirstOne. We obey, Jenova.**

  


It was raining in Midgar. A slow, cold, dirty city kind of rain that stank of dead worms and mold, cleaning little and nourishing even less. It made little wet spots in the red dirt, tiny muddy halos that multiplied until they touched, and the russet earth bleed freely around him and against him until it was all he knew, mud and oily rain and cold and the high, thin smell of his own copper blood. The older SOLDIERs, the ones who were nothing but bright eyed shadows, sometimes spoke wistfully of a green embrace waiting just beyond this world. Some of them, wet to the skin with battle and blood and near death, said they could smell it, or feel it, touching them and moving on, as if not ready to swallow them yet. But for Zack there was only the clammy embrace of the barren soil underneath him, and the unforgiving leaden sky. He thought, as he sank into unconsciousness, that he'd always had colossally bad luck. 

  


_After_.

Cloud wondered, socket wrench in hand, if he was going to spend his life in perpetual confusion or if it was just a stage he was going through. "Spin the guard placket back to the diameter recommended as per the instructors manual. Insert the flange component nullifier, ears first, until the first contact locks securely with the upper toggle modifier." Cloud frowned at the back of the generator, and the wrench in his hand. He stared very hard at the instruction sheet as if it might suddenly be written in a language he knew. "Perpetually confused," he decided grimly, and attacked the open panel with his socket wrench, hoping he wouldn't get electrocuted. That'd be a hell of a way to go--three months after saving the world. 

"Cloud! What the #@%&* are you doin' with that?" Cid stomped over, chewing the end of his cigarette like it was a competition sport. 

"I'm just tryin' to fix the-" Cloud waved his wrench vaguely at the generator. 

"That's my lucky towel! It stays in the effing cockpit, got it?" 

Cloud blinked at the mangled array of generator parts, the tools scattered across the ground, and the general chaos that had taken most of his morning to create. Somewhere under it, one end of a once blue towel poked out from between a pile of salvaged cables. He watched, mystified, as Cid retrieved the towel, muttering under his breath, and stalked back toward the Highwind. 

"I'm the most sane person here." 

"You got that right." 

"Hi, Yuffie." Cloud grunted, trying to free a bolt. "What's up?" 

"So like," Yuffie's elbows thunked on top of the generator's metal housing. "It's not MY fault about Vincent, right? How was _I_ supposed to know that one eetsy teensy innocent comment was gonna send him off the broody deep end or whatever? Not that I _care_ if he doesn't talk to me or anything, but he's just so _creepy_ and-" 

"Yuffie." Cloud gave up on the bolt, looking at the Ninja steadily even though she was framed against the sunlight-bright side of the Highwind. "You're talking to the wrong person about this." 

"Oh!" She chewed her lip. "I thought you'd be the right person, I mean, since you two are, are well, a _thing_ , and you'd probably know him better than anybody and-" 

"I meant," Cloud said, hand tightening on the wrench. "That I've been working on this damn generator all morning and if you are not out of my sight in three seconds, I'm gonna see if the generator god will accept a Ninja sacrifice. Got it?" 

"Gone!" Yuffie yelped, and scampered off to whine at Tifa instead. She was a lot less violent. Usually.

"I get no respect," Cloud grumbled. He was fidgeting with what he was pretty sure was the upper flange moderator when somebody above him gave the generator a resounding kick. Cloud jumped back to avoid being squished as the ancient machinery gave a sickly wheeze, then began to thrum to life. 

"HEY. What the HELL d'you think you're DOING?" Cloud shot to his feet, ready to send somebody to the lifestream via the scenic route through a nearby tree. "My head was in there and--and I..." Cloud's voice died in his throat, the socket wrench slipped from his numb fingers to plop softly on the grass. 

"Heya Punk. What the hell'd you do with my sword?" 

And Cloud Strife passed out cold. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things of note: Please remember that Endgame Cloud is actually a total dork and the whole angsty protagonist bit he does was part of his identity issues. It got brought back for Advent Children (which did not exist at time of writing) and made him into the stereotypical taciturn hero that he only was before because he was pretending to be someone else. And by that I mean, he's a hick kid with impostor syndrome who was never cut out to save the world (which is what makes him great imho) and he would indeed lose a fight with a broken generator. And he's the MC, which means he's everybody's errand boy and Agony Aunt. Tangentially, have you ever tried to install a dryer yourself? A dryer that was made in the 80s? I have. Trust me. Those instructions are real. The generator's winning this one. 
> 
> Also, on our first go-around, we were pretty solidly Cloud & Vincent shippers even though we never got around to writing it. Later, we were pretty solidly Vincent and Cid shippers, and some of those later works wound up in this timeline, too. Basically, we're polyshippers, and so is most every character in here. Which is why, as Yuffie points out, Vincent and Cloud are 'kind of a thing,' even though there's no previous fic in this timeline about that. 
> 
> Zack is not a City Boy but bebe Cloud sure thought he was. 
> 
> And lastly, Cloud is totally prone to passing out because the dude has some serious traumatic brain injury, and because at the time I didn't know how else to end the scene.


	2. Chapter 2

_Before_.

"Hey. Hey, Strife. C'mon, wake up." 

Cloud mumbled into his folded arms, dull blue eyes trying to focus. He would have protested that the bar was really a lot more comfortable than his barracks, but his tongue got twisted around the words and they just came out in a dazed sort of slur. 

"Merciful Ramuh, Strife, you didn't need to drink _eight_ of those. C'mon, you can come back to my place..." 

Strong hands picked him up by the armpits, slinging him easily over one shoulder. Cloud turned his face into warm dark hair that smelled like gunsmoke and sunshine, and murmured sleepily. "Mmbut... curfew..."

Someone swatted him across the ass. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Cloud, grateful to have a friend who could pull strings, passed out cold on Zack's shoulder. 

  
_After_.

"Cloud, Cloud, are you okay? Wake up!" 

Cloud blinked, his eyes looking for the sky that had been there a second ago, but all he saw was a rather large expanse of soft, curved white. "Huh?" 

Tifa sat back heavily on her heels, and the sky came back as her chest moved out of Cloud's vision. "Oh, good, I thought you'd gone off on me again!" She fussed over him, brushing the hair out of his eyes and bits of greenery off his chest, and Cloud batted her hands away impatiently, rubbing at his eyes. 

"Guess I ...banged my head," he muttered, sitting up despite Tifa's protests. 

"Cloud, maybe you should stay down." She put her hands on his chest, trying to enforce her statement. "You still look a little green. I told you to get out of the sun before you gave yourself heatstroke!" She scowled faintly at him, still managing to sound relieved. 

"Yeah, musta been." Heatstroke, of course. He'd been sitting in the sun all morning working on that generator, and it had dazed him somehow, because he was sure he'd seen--

"Is he awake?" Someone asked, the voice ricocheting through Cloud's memory. He swayed on the spot, and Tifa flung her arms out to catch him. 

"I told you not to come over here! You want to give him a heart attack? Showing up out of the blue! Honestly!" 

"He's not _that_ much of a wimp, Miss Lockhart. And what did you want me to do, send out 'back from the dead' notices?" 

"Well at least--" Tifa began. 

"...the hell?" Cloud mumbled, and pushed Tifa out of the way, trying to focus on the shadow above him. Different clothes, and the stance not quite right-favoring his left leg. But then he tilted his head and gods the grin was the same, like five years ago, like jarflies in Nibelheim buzzing with summer, like smoke and fire and a madman's laughter. "...Zack?" And even to his own ears his voice sounded small, sounded childish, sounded disbelieving. "...alive?" 

Zack took a step forward and Cloud's mind fumbled on small details, following the uneven gait and the leg that didn't work quite right underneath him, the hollowness in his eyes, the way his clothing hung loosely on his frame. A jagged white streak threaded its way through spiky black hair and Cloud found his fingers twitching in the grass, aching to touch it and see if it was real. 

"So," Zack said, his voice a bit rough, "what did I miss?" 

Tifa made a small noise and put her hands to her mouth, Cloud didn't need to see her to tell she was waiting for one or the both of them to run into the other's arms. He didn't, though, getting to his feet slowly and absently brushing dirt off of his pants - the ones that had once been Zack's. 

"Not much," Cloud shrugged, wishing his voice more casual, his hands less shaky. "Just the end of the world." 

"I was awake for that bit," Zack said, and flashed his grin, and maybe Cloud would run to him, Tifa watching or no. "So you gonna tell me what happened, or what?" 

  


"...that's it?" Hours later, sitting outside with the slow breathy sound of the gas lantern on the table between them, moths fluttering gleefully around the light. "You always were a shitty storyteller, Strife." 

Tifa had brought the lantern after the sun had gone down and they showed no signs of finishing their conversation at the inn, where the rooms were hot and stuffy and not conducive to either sleeping or catching up on the past. There were four empty bottles on the table between them; Tifa had brought those too, with dinner, mumbling something about once a barmaid, always a barmaid. 

"You should have asked one of the others to tell it." Cloud peeled the label off his bottle and held it to the small flaming mantle of the lantern, watching as it curled and turned black between his callused thumb and forefinger. "They could have told it better." 

"I doubt it." Zack lifted his head to the stars. They shone more here than they ever had before on the outskirts of Kalm, without Midgar's overpowering glow on the western horizon. The whole world seemed brighter, green and rich and thrumming with life, even so late in summer. Cloud supposed that all things considered, he should not be too surprised to be sitting at a picnic table behind the Black Chocobo Inn in Kalm, toasting the past with Zack Fair. 

"What happened to you, Zack?" Cloud asked at last, trying not to memorize his profile, some part of him intent to never forget again. "I thought--" 

"I don't really know," Zack said, and Cloud tilted his head, not sure if it was the glare of the lantern between them or if Zack was avoiding his eyes. "I don't remember much after --after I was shot. I think I must have passed out, or something. I came to somewhere in the slums, with this practically useless--" He gestured to his leg, "and flat on my back. Don't know how I was alive. I didn't remember anything, then. Some old lady had found me while she was scavenging around the outskirts of the city. She was a little..." Zack gestured to his temple, implying mental instability. "Thought I was her son." Zack shrugged, sighing. "He's probably been dead for years, but I was so out of it at first that I didn't know I _wasn't_ her kid. I spent most of the time unconscious, anyway. Couldn't walk." The bright mako glow in his eyes seemed to fade a little, hands turning the beer bottle slowly, one thumb smoothing the label. "But then something happened. It was like half of me was trying to peel away and leave the rest of me behind. Somebody calling for me. I started remembering." He looked up at Cloud, and the night seemed suddenly heavy, pressing in around the small flame of their lantern, making Cloud's fingers twitch for his sword-hilt. 

"You know, don't you?" Zack was the one who sounded young this time, and he fumbled with the sleeve of his work shirt, the one that looked so wrong on him. His skin was pale from years without the sun, the muscle not as firm as Cloud remembered. In the lamplight the tattoo shone like ink in fresh snow, Zack's number etched with scientific precision into his skin. 

"I never got one," Cloud said, running one finger over the lines. "It probably saved my life." 

Zack shook his shaggy head. "You're allergic to everything, Strife. Onions, ragweed, mako..." 

"Oh, shut up," Cloud said, but he was grinning. "So I'm a loser. It saved my ass." 

"Yeah." Zack's eyes narrowed and the glow was back, hot gold in his brown irises, still pale next to Cloud's unearthly blue, overexposure to mako causing them to almost shine through his shut lids. "Guess it did." 

"Go on," Cloud encouraged, as a moth caught fire in the lantern and died in a tiny flare. "I know you heard _him_." 

"It didn't matter." Zack swatted a mosquito that had landed near his tattoo, flicking it away. "I couldn't go anywhere. Just lay there screaming for a few weeks. Got me this." He ruffled his fingers through his hair, the white stripe silver in the lamplight.

"I think it looks cool," Cloud demurred. "Dye it purple or something." 

"You would say so." Zack yawned, stretching. "It stopped, though. Real sudden-like. No voices in my head, nothing. I started tryin' to walk, moving around. Finally was getting somewhere, and then the whole fucking world tried to come down on top of my head. Killed my old lady." Zack sighed, frowning at his hands. "Her heart wasn't good. Couldn't take it. I don't think she ever realized who I was. Taking care of me was all she was living for, anyway." 

"Reeve said he tried to evacuate the slums..." Cloud looked over his shoulder to where Midgar lay, silent under the skies. "I suppose she wouldn't go. Lot of people already going back, beats me why." 

"Home is home, I guess. We were in a refurbished drain pipe, dunno if anybody knew we were there." Zack said. "But the plate didn't come down on me and the next morning I was able to drag us outta there. Got a few guys to help me bury her, and what were they all rattling on about but the great fucking hero of the world, Cloud Strife." 

Cloud had the presence of mind not to blush. Too much. "People say all kindsa shit." 

"Yeah, well the shit they were saying was that you single-handedly polished _him_ off." Zack arched an eyebrow. "You can see why my interest was piqued." 

"It didn't really happen like that," Cloud mumbled, to the peeling paint on the picnic table. "I told you like it was." 

"I would have tried to look for you anyway," Zack said, shoving the lantern to the side to catch Cloud's hand in his. "Least this way I knew you were still alive." 

For a long moment they were silent, no sound between them but the sigh of the lantern and the cries of peepers in the long damp grass by the well, a chorus of crickets singing gleefully. 

"It's late," Cloud said finally, standing and letting Zack's fingers slide from his. "You must be tired. Vincent went to Nibelheim this afternoon to take some parts in that Reeve wanted; you can stay with me." 

"I appreciate it." Zack gestured to his shirt. "I haven't got much gil to my name." 

"You think I don't owe you more than a night's bed?" Cloud shook his head, smiling ruefully. "By rights I ought to be putting you up in the Midgar Palace Hotel." 

"It's not there anymore," Zack grinned, and they smirked at each other in the lamplight. 

"Fuck, Zack, it's good to see you," Cloud breathed. 

"Yeah." Zack's eyes narrowed, and there were faint lines at the edges that Cloud didn't remember being there. "Yeah, good to see you too." 

Cloud picked up the lantern and their shadows bounced on the dark grass as they walked back to the inn. "I got the key here somewhere." Cloud dug in his pockets. "Oh, yeah, Tifa left it open for me. Zack, you comin'?" 

Zack stood with his back to the starry sky, his eyes tilted to the northern horizon. He had gone almost completely still, watching the sky. He didn't appear to have heard Cloud. 

"Yo, Zack?" 

"Huh?" Zack tore his eyes away, and blinked once. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, Cloud." And Cloud couldn't help but notice as he limped across the inn-yard that twice Zack's dark head lifted to the northern stars, his eyes unblinking, breathing stilled as if listening to the sky. 

  


"...it's just not natural, don't you think, Tifa? Just because Cloud -" 

"Just because Cloud what?" Cloud asked, And Yuffie jumped, her hand to her mouth. 

"Cloud! I er, I didn't hear you coming." Yuffie put on her best smile. 

"Yeah, I'll bet you didn't." Cloud put down the load of sylkis greens he was carrying and rubbed at a crick in his neck. "What're you two whispering about?" 

"Nothing!" Yuffie trilled, hands behind her back. 

"She doesn't trust Zack," Tifa said, without looking up from the transmitter she was tuning, and missing Yuffie's indignant glare. 

"Really, Yuffie?" Cloud said evenly. "And why is that?" 

"Wellll..." Yuffie twisted her fingers together. "He's just... he's just awfully quiet." 

"I can see how someone like you would find that threatening," Cloud grinned, and Tifa chuckled as she reached for her soldering tool. 

"He has got a point. You said the same thing about Vincent, too." 

Yuffie put her hands on her hips. "I'm _still_ not sure I trust Vincent, either. He's been weirder than usual lately." 

Cloud picked up the greens again. "Well neither one of them ever ripped off my materia, Yuffster, so I think you can give up on the untrustworthy factor." 

Yuffie flushed. "That's something else entirely. He's a _clone_ , Cloud." 

Cloud's face darkened. "So am I, Yuffie." 

Yuffie bit her lip, and said nothing as Cloud brushed by her. Once he was past he heard her scampering off, and Tifa swearing under her breath. He forgot, too often, how young Yuffie was. Oh, well. It didn't give her an excuse to be a brat. 

"Feeding time?" Zack asked mildly, looking up as Cloud approached the broad, shady tree where an impromptu rope paddock had been set up. Zack sat underneath it, a pile of rusty gear parts in his lap. "Good thing, since this overgrown chicken of yours has been trying to eat my hair for the last hour." 

"Roni is not an overgrown chicken," Cloud said, grinning. "He's a five time racing champion and the reason we've got as much money and supplies as we do. His ass is worth more than mine." He ruffled the gold chocobo's neck feathers, and the large bird crooned appreciatively. "And once the other two are old enough to ride we won't have to rely on the Highwind and the choppers all the time. Rufus already wants to buy three, once we get them ready." 

"Still can't believe you trust that guy," Zack muttered, groping in the grass for his wrench. "But I'll take your word that he's not like his old man. What the _hell_ did you do to this generator, Strife?" 

Cloud shook some greens into Roni's trough. "You know I'm not mechanically minded." 

"I'll say," Zack muttered, reaching up to scratch the Chocobo's head as it dug greedily into its trough. "At least it makes me feel useful." 

"You've been a great help, these past couple of weeks." Cloud folded his legs underneath him, sinking to the grass with a sigh. Zack had known almost as much about the Highwind as Cid did, and his training in SOLDIER had not gone to waste, since he knew the locations of three hidden munitions storage facilities, which had turned up much-needed supplies, materia, and rations. Yuffie may not have trusted him, but Cloud was glad to have an extra ally. Even if, like now, he would sometimes turn his face to the sky, a faint frown between his eyebrows, his hand moving absently over his bad leg. 

"What?" Cloud asked, knowing Zack would dismiss it. 

"Nothing." Zack shrugged. "Just thinking." The weeks of hard work and Tifa's exceptionally good cooking had put the bulk back into his shoulders, his gait was not so uneven now. Long hours in the sun had turned his skin to gold to match his mako-eyes, black hair threaded with amber. 

"Thinking about what?" Cloud pressured, trying to corner him. 

"That I didn't mean to upset your teamwork." Zack nodded meaningfully to the inn. "Yuffie never has anything nice to say to me." 

"Yuffie," Cloud said, with a pained noise, "is _sixteen_. She drives us all to drink." 

Zack chuckled. "I think she has a little crush on me." He grinned. "I didn't mean to hurt her feelings." 

"Well, it's not like I blame her." Cloud winked slyly at Zack. "The crush part, I mean." 

Zack rolled his eyes. "Hey, you keep away from me, Strife. You gotta vampire ex-Turk boyfriend that I sure as hell don't want to cross." He glanced around the meadow behind the inn, where Cloud and his group had set up shop. "Speaking of which, I haven't seen him." 

Cloud shrugged. "Vincent comes and goes. I've learned not to try and keep tabs on him. Haven't seen him for a few days." 

Zack raised an eyebrow. "I'd hate to think I'm intruding on a normal, functional relationship." 

Cloud just laughed, and it felt good to do it, in the shade with the wind in the tree. "Vincent? Normal? Yeah, right. Besides, he's probably just giving us some space, you know. To catch up. Anyway, you wanna take a break for a beer or some--" Zack wasn't listening, instead gazing steadily northward, his hand hovering over a spark plug on his knee, eyes distant. He didn't even notice as Cloud stood up and backed away, trying to fight the uneasy feeling that maybe, for once, Yuffie was right. 

  


"I have to go." 

Sunset made the whole sky red and violet, clouds blossoming like golden flowers. Their shadows were long, emaciated things, flickering over the high blowing grasses. Cloud hesitated, then hopped down out of the Highwind's engine access panel. "Cid wanted another tank of extra fuel, Zack, could you remind me to put it in tomorrow before he takes off for Mideel?" 

"Cloud, I have to go." 

Cloud ran a hand through his hair, talking a bit too fast. "I'll forget, you know, without somebody to remind me, and Cid'll have kittens if he's got to buy fuel in Mideel, it's so fucking expensive..." 

"Cloud." Zack held out both his hands as if in supplication, and Cloud hung his head. 

"I know. I _know_ , Zack." He looked up at him, and his eyes were bright with more than mako. "You think I don't know what you've been hearing, the past month? I'm not stupid." 

Zack lowered his hands and looked away. North, always North. "I know you're not stupid, Cloud." 

"You shouldn't go." Cloud hugged himself, chilled as the sun dipped towards the western horizon. "I don't know what he's telling you, but you shouldn't go." 

"He's not telling me anything," Zack said, and his voice was soft, barely audible over the wind. "I don't think he knows anyone's listening." 

Cloud gritted his teeth, realizing suddenly that he was bitterly, insanely jealous. " _I_ don't hear him." 

"He's cold," Zack continued, as if he hadn't heard. "So cold, and confused, and ...lonely..." 

"It's a trick," Cloud said, and in his mind the words were calm, even. "It's a trick, Zack. It's a lie and he's dead and I don't care and I don't care and you can't you won't I won't let you damn you damn him _I won't let him have you!_ " 

"Cloud!" 

And it penetrated Cloud's mind that Zack had been yelling it for some time now, that there was blood trickling down his nose and Zack's shirt in his fists and they were both in the grass, and Cloud was sobbing for air, his voice raw as if he'd been screaming. Zack slowly released Cloud's shoulders and slid out from underneath him, wincing as it jarred his injured leg. 

"Cloud?" Zack reached out a hand, but it fell short of Cloud's shoulder. "Cloud, are you all right?" 

"He's _dead_." Cloud said, rather desperately, punching the ground with his fist. "He's _dead_." 

"I--" Zack began, obviously uncomfortable with disturbing Cloud's reality. "I'm not sure that he is, Cloud." 

The sun had gone down. 

Cloud was silent a long moment, hugging his bruised ribs. They must have fought, and fought badly. He rubbed at his bleeding nose and sat back on his heels. "How long have you heard him, now?" 

Zack shrugged. "What, coherently? You mean the confusion and the cold and not _come-here-do-my-bidding_?" He sighed. "A week or so after Meteor fell. I knew I had to come find you." He looked Cloud squarely in the eye. "I can't go alone." 

Cloud caught his breath. "You want me to come with you?" 

Zack made a derisive noise and gestured down at himself. "Yeah, fine sight I'd make, hobbling down the North Crater, using my buster sword as a crutch. I'm in no shape for that. I don't know that I ever will be again." He pulled at the grass furiously, shredding it with his fingers. "Now I'm the weak one, Strife. Now I need you." 

Cloud blinked. He had seen Zack's leg, the fine mesh of machine-bullet scarring that ran the length of his left thigh, had traced the fine thin twin scars, front and back of his abdomen, that marked the entry and exit wound of a slender steel blade. Never, in all those nights had he thought of Zack as he thought of him now, as someone wounded, broken. "Does he...remember... anything?" Cloud had struggled not to ask, _does he remember me?_

Zack shook his head. "I don't think so. Like I said, it's not like he knows anyone is hearing it. It's just this keening, like, as if he's-- " 

"Calling for help." 

And both of them jumped, fumbling for weapons before a red-cloaked shadow detached itself from the side of the Highwind. Vincent's gold arm flashed in the twilight as he waved them back down. 

"Can't you say 'hello' like a normal person?" Cloud demanded, a bit peevishly. 

"You hear him, too?" Zack asked, using Cloud to get to his feet. 

Vincent inclined his head. "Of course. If possible, my Jenova-cell count is even higher than yours. However, not being a proper clone, the connection is somewhat --unclear. I've spent the last few weeks under the gracious hospitality of the Turks. Tseng was more than happy to let me investigate Hojo's notes on the subject." 

"Why don't _I_ hear him, then?" Cloud demanded, knowing it was useless to hope that Vincent would say hello, or that he'd missed him, or anything near to normal. 

Vincent turned summon-materia red eyes to Cloud, and made an apologetic noise. "Jenova cells never grew properly in you, Cloud. An empathic response would be the most you could get, probably. You have a high percentage of mako influence, yes, but very few Jenova cells." 

"Onions, ragweed, and mako, Strife," Zack was grinning. He had a black eye. 

"Shuttup," Cloud said, but there was no heat in it. He turned his face north, to where the first stars were creeping out. An empathic reaction? If he closed his eyes he could imagine, even with the warm summer night air on his skin, the swirl of ice crystals and snow, the dull green glow of a mako pool, a ripple of silver hair... He stopped, and shook his head violently. "Sephiroth is dead," Cloud said, and he turned to face the other two. "I saw the Lifestream take him in. Maybe I was almost dead then, too. Maybe it wasn't real. So I'm going with you." 

Zack took a step forward, and Cloud held up his hand. "With the understanding," Cloud continued, "That if he _is_ there, and he turns out to be malevolent, I'll kill him again if necessary. ...And anyone supporting him. Got that?" 

Zack blinked, and Cloud got the impression that for the first time Zack was seeing him as he was, not the inept Shinra grunt he remembered. "All right, Cloud." 

Vincent just nodded.

"We can leave tomorrow. The two new Golds should be ready to ride, we can take them. And we probably shouldn't tell anybody what we're doing; Tifa would pop all her capillaries if she knew." 

"Right." Zack nodded. "We can say we're looking for another munitions stash." 

"I know the sword is your first weapon, Zack," Vincent said, starlight flickering on his gold claw. "But as you may temporarily have problems with that, I am certain I have a handgun you can equip yourself with." 

Zack looked at him a long moment, thoughtfully. "Yeah, you're a Turk, all right. Something about the way all of you talk. Terrorist diplomacy." He grinned. "And I like the way you say 'temporarily'." 

Vincent bowed. "I have no doubt that you will make a full recovery, Zack." 

The wind scuttled through the high branches, cool with the approach of night. They all turned their faces to the sky at the same moment, and Cloud could believe in a faint noise on the wind, a sigh, a question, a cold kiss like a snowflake from a summer sky. There were no words, but for a moment he remembered being wet to the skin with mako, swirling endlessly in the Lifestream. He shook himself to find Zack with his eyes still half shut, leaning into the wind, and Vincent watching Cloud's face, concern in his eyes and his fingers curved into the hollow of Cloud's shoulder. Zack sighed at last and turned his face away, and the last three survivors of Shinra's scientific legacy stood close together as the moon lifted herself out of the eastern ocean. 

"We should get some rest," Vincent suggested, his eyes on Cloud's bruised cheekbone. "We have a long way to go." 

They crossed the field in silence, and Cloud was grimly mollified that Zack didn't look back at the sky. "Just one question," Cloud asked, pausing at the inn door, "just which one of us gets stuck with the floor tonight?" 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Chocobos are all named after Xenogears characters. Much like Xeno/FF7 were developed concurrently, we also played them almost concurrently. 
> 
> * We originally wrote Zack with gold mako-bright eyes, based on his dark-eyed game sprite. He was also named Zax Darklighter, in the tradition of FF characters named after Star Wars characters, and because Zax/Zack was the opposite side of the Aeris/Aerith battle. ('Zack' won out, sadly, but compared to the other good things to come out of the Compilation, that's ok.) 
> 
> * When I wrote this, I really wanted to say that the lantern on the picnic table was a Coleman Lantern. Because they look and sound and smell a certain way, and I really wanted to convey that. But hey, this isn't Earth, right? This is a Final Fantasy world. They don't have Coleman-brand shit. So I bent myself elbows around ass to avoid saying that outright, and then, 20 years later, here comes FFXV with a Coleman sponsorship and branded shit all over the place, including, of course. Lanterns.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (small NSFW warning for this chapter)

_Before_.

Two little trails, Cloud had been thinking, vaguely. His toes were making two neat little trails in the mud. He really should pick up his feet and walk, but it was so much easier to just stare at the upside-down ground, and at the two fascinating, wobbly little paths his boots were making. These weren't his boots, were they? These boots were brown. His boots were black, shiny ones. With buckles. They made him keep them polished all the damn time.

Neat little things, those matching grooves. Deep mud, here. Red. Like all the green had been sucked out of it. Cloud frowned. He couldn't remember seeing grass for a while. Something was making a lot of noise, somewhere far away. Small objects hit the nearby rocks with amazing force, spitting off flecks of stone that hurt as they stung his cheek. The world shifted, and he was lowered to the ground in time to see a pair of boots that looked just like the ones he was wearing. 

The noises got louder. _Gunfire_ , some part of Cloud's brain remembered, as he stared vacantly at the heavy gray sky. _I'm hearing gunfire_. There was a staccato of muffled sound, and something slumped down nearby him. Cloud struggled to lift his head, succeeding in time to see boots that he recognized--

_shiny, black, make you polish them all the damn time, and those blue uniforms_

\--Run past him, and between all those patent-leather ankles something twitched and jerked and moaned over that same awful sound, and there was something dreadful, something terrible, horrible in that sound that he didn't understand, and he wanted it to stop, wanted them to stop, but the sound poured on into his mako hazed brain, loud and relentless--

_oh god he's dead, he's dead he has to be dead just leave him alone you fucking bastards!_

**Rattatattarattatattaclickclickclick** and the body that looked like Cloud's--

_not my boots, these boots are brown, don't have to polish these_

\--Finally, blissfully went still, and the shining boots flashed black past his face and were gone again. 

Two neat trails. His knees making them this time, his hands fumbling though cold and mud until they landed on something hard and warm and unfamiliar: the still-hot handle of a buster sword. 

_...Zack, Zack, oh, god, Zack, it's all my fault, my fault, if only I'd been like you, like you, your clothes your sword your blood running hot on my hands Zack Zack Zack..._

Something was terribly still, in the grass over there. Something was warm on the ground, warm and wet and sticky and the two intriguing little paths his knees had dug in the mud were filling up, welling up with rich red like twin rivers spinning giddily to the ocean, spiraling away from the profile that lifted to the unraining sky like a mountain spattered all over with sunset.

_Like you._

  


_After_.  


Cloud jerked himself awake in the early pre-dawn haze, chest aching as his heart careened against his ribcage. The nightmare was already fading, familiar in its delirious pattern of mako-dream. Ten slow breaths and his heart began to go back to normal, subdued and steady under his breastbone. 

"Ninety-seven, ninety-eight..." 

Cloud wiggled up from under the weight of Vincent's left arm, squinting across the room. Zack's section of mattress was already abandoned, and in the dim light Cloud could see a long shadow lying along the floor, moving steadily up and down. Oh, of course. He used to do four hundred push-ups every morning. Cloud could barely make it to two dozen, in those days. And then only when he tried. It was almost as if nothing had changed: Cloud lying warm in bed with the rhythmic noise of Zack's breathing, the sound of his palms slapping the floor as he lifted himself into the air on each upswing. But then Cloud's eyes got used to the fuzzy light and he could see Zack favoring his good leg, could pick out the round shiny scars working their way up Zack's back. Cloud counted the bullet marks there in the pre-dawn, counted them in time with each exhalation of Zack's breath. His mind fumbled on the slender masamune scar on Zack's back, and at the same time Zack's count stuttered, the slap of his hands came too soon as he caught himself on the floor, his breath exploding out in a rush. His fist hit the hardwood with a muffled thump, something violent and futile sworn under his breath.

He'd only made two hundred and three.

"It'll take a while," Cloud whispered, careful not to disturb Vincent.

Zack started, then smiled ruefully up at Cloud. "Sorry if I woke you." 

Cloud shrugged. "It's only been a few months, Zack. Barely even a year. You're lucky to be alive." 

Zack pushed himself to his knees, grimacing. "Spending five years in a jar didn't help much, either." 

"I can empathize," Vincent said suddenly, without so much as a yawn. 

Cloud started. Even first thing in the morning, even before a mission, there was nothing to ruffle Vincent Valentine. "Vincent--" Cloud began, but was waved silent. 

"You didn't wake me." Vincent quietly stood, dressing in a swirl of red fabric, the soft clicking sounds of him checking his materia and buckling his holster as familiar to Cloud as a measure of music. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go arrange our provisions." He gave Cloud a long look, crimson eyes dark with subtle meaning. "Come down when you're ready." 

The door swung silently shut behind him. 

Zack blinked, still sitting on the floor. "He is always like that, isn't he?" 

"Yes." Cloud yawned, reaching downwards in hopes of recovering his pants. A warm hand wrapped around his wrist, and he blinked down at it, confused. "Zack?" 

"You always have nightmares about me?" 

Cloud frowned, trying to read the intent in those gold irises. "Was I talking in my sleep? Vincent says I do but I'm not sure that--" 

"I felt it." Zack was the one frowning now, his eyes absently on the bedside lamp, voice going distant as if he was gazing northward again. "God, did I feel it. Vincent must have too." Zack stood uneasily, leaning on the bedpost for support. 

"He left us alone on purpose." Cloud ran his hands through his hair. It was sticky-hot already outside, and the sun wasn't even up. "Beats me why--" 

"It must have been awful." Zack was quiet, and this time his eyes were unwavering on Cloud. "Inside your head. I don't know how you did it." 

Cloud let his boot fall from his hands, losing interest in getting dressed. "I thought I was someone stronger." 

"You always had a stupidly high opinion of me." Zack sat down on the bed, sighing. 

"Who wouldn't?" Cloud narrowed his eyes, remembering. "You were so _cool_. The sword, the outfit, the earring, the city-boy accent -" 

"--Was all cultured." Zack was grinning. "You should have seen me when I first landed in Midgar. I'm a complete hick, Cloud. I'm from _Gongaga_ , for the love of the Planet." 

"I know." Cloud smiled. "We went there. Your parents still don't know what happened to you." 

"I should go see them," Zack said, wistfully. "They probably think I'm dead. I'll go after we--" He stopped abruptly. "Anyway, who's the cool one now? Right down to the accent and the earring. Most of the time you don't sound like you're from Nibelheim anymore. Tifa, now, she's still got her dialect." 

"I already had the earring." Cloud reached up, fingers absently securing the small bit of jewelry. "Remember? It's a piece of vertigo materia. You gave it to me, in Nibelheim. So I wouldn't get sick on the ride back home."

"You didn't even have your ear pierced." Zack's hand slid easily into the gold weight of Cloud's hair, his palm warm on the side of Cloud's face. "I did it for you." 

Cloud half-closed his eyes. He was still tired and the steady scratching motion Zack's fingers were making over the back of his head was enough to send him right to sleep. He was too drowsy to predict the kiss, and far too complacent under Zack's hand to jump. Zack's mouth was warm, slow and as lazy as his fingers moving in firm strokes down the back of Cloud's neck. Cloud made a contented noise in his throat, opening his mouth against Zack's, and Zack's weight as he leaned forward carried them both easily to the bed, arms in a tangle, the kiss unbroken. 

Cloud remembered this. This was winter nights after he'd stood on patrol, hours in the cold, fingers frozen in his gloves. This was the blurred early morning after a leave-day, in Zack's private room in the SOLDIER dorm, his mind still hazed with whatever he'd drunk the night before to prove to Zack that he could. This was summer thunderstorm rain in Midgar and the familiar hot weight of Zack's body pressing him into the mattress, when it was slow and easy and nobody asked why Cloud hadn't been on duty, he was Zack's boy and not even command would give him any flack. This was, Cloud realized in retrospect, the way Zack had been protecting him, every day, from what the Shinra military was really like. 

This was never after Zack had been on a mission. After missions, Zack belonged only to Sephiroth. And Cloud would lie curled alone on his lumpy barracks bed and hate and want them both. Because that was what they were, and what he wasn't. 

"You're awfully quiet." 

But this really wasn't any of that. Not that Zack was any more his than he had been in those days, his very cells inextricably bound to whatever was left in that desolate glacier. But Cloud was something else. Cloud was Cloud, and Zack was Zack, and only one of them had saved the world. 

Zack blinked surprise as he was rolled over, landing on his back in the dent in the middle of the feather bed, Cloud's hands on his shoulders. "What?" 

"I'm not a little boy anymore, Zack." 

Zack's mouth went tight, one finger tracing the line of Cloud's jaw, gold with shadow, and the irrevocable shape of his lowered eyebrows. "I know. We can stop, then." 

"That's not what I said." Cloud lowered his head to Zack's shoulder, his mouth moving with slow aggression up Zack's throat. "I said," and his hips rocked for emphasis, "I'm not a little boy anymore." 

Zack arched up into it with a startled little gasp, not expecting that. Cloud was grimly mollified. "Cloud, what d'you -" 

"Want you." And Cloud was brushing open-mouthed kisses over every perfectly circular scar, even when they ran together along his thigh and became one shiny blur of remembered pain. "The way _he_ had you. Just once." And his lips found the perfect precise entry wound of a direct thrust of sword, a wound made by pure instinct to kill and without Sephiroth's usual slashing grace. 

Zack made a small noise in the back of his throat, his hands surrendering to Cloud's hair. "Cloud, all you had to ever do was ask."

"I never would have, you know that." Cloud was too busy fumbling with Zack's shorts, eager to have them off. 

"Well, you can ask _now_ , can't you?" Zack's hand was remarkably deft, slipping easily between Cloud's legs. "Since you're not a little _boy_ anymore." 

Cloud growled, low in his throat, and the seams of Zack's shorts protested as they were removed. "I don't ask for things now, either." 

He could have been wrong, but it sounded like there was approval in the small sexy sound Zack made, his hands sliding warm down Cloud's back. Cloud half-fell forward as Zack shifted in the tangle of sheets, and his hips moved easily into the warm space between Zack's legs. Zack pressed up against Cloud's belly, hot and eager as he rolled his hips underneath Cloud's. "C'mon, Cloud," Zack breathed, and there was a challenge in his eyes that hadn't been there before, the mako-fierce glare of an equal. "If you're gonna prove something, get on with it." 

Cloud's hands moved easily to the back of Zack's knees, the force of his fingers making Zack's tanned skin go white as he carried Zack's legs high, hooking them over his own shoulders. "Did _he_ make you wait?" 

"Never," Zack gasped, sliding his hands between his legs. "We were never-- at ease." 

"Dangerous." Cloud said, leaning over him, and Zack made a soft noise of protest as Cloud pressed against him. "Fast. Angry. Right?" 

Zack nodded. "After a battle it was just-- well you _know_ , don't you?" 

"Yeah." And Cloud moved forward, into the slow slick heat of Zack's body, Zack keening quietly in his throat, shifting his hips up and coaxing him greedily in. "I know, Zack." 

And the competition was over as if it never was, Cloud wondering what he had found so enviable about the whole rivalry when all he had ever wanted was just this, Zack and only Zack, underneath him, all around him, engulfing him with his warmth and scent and sweet need, rocking with impatience. They found an equilibrium, a balance of equals, as Zack moved unashamed hands on himself, dark hair clinging to his damp skin and his mouth saying the things that Cloud had always said, _more, yes, there, harder, don't stop--_

Cloud clung to Zack's legs as if desperate for an anchor, his palms slick on the smooth scar, feeling the slide and strain in every muscle as Zack thrust his hips up, the tension making his thighs shake. Cloud had almost always shut his eyes back then, when he was the one underneath. This time they stayed open, gleaming hot blue in the dim light as Zack cried out, only once, coming just as the sun crept over the mountains and spilled gold over Cloud's hands. Cloud shuddered, his body responding instinctively to Zack's, and for one second Cloud felt the movement of a contact that was more than mere identity theft, and Zack's mind echoed inside his own. 

_Cloud._

The square of sunlight had crept up to his shoulders by the time Cloud lifted his head from Zack's damp hair, his breathing no longer ragged. 

"You okay?" Zack smoothed back Cloud's hair from his face, one arm wrapped firmly around Cloud's waist. "Thought you were gonna pass out on me again." 

"I'm okay." Cloud's fingers were lost in the landscape of Zack's back, trying to map each mark, counting the ones he remembered and the ones that were new. He pressed his face into Zack's throat, not needing or caring to be the one in control anymore. it was familiar, this way their bodies curved together, the way Zack breathed under his hands. 

"We should go soon," Zack said, after a long moment, his eyes on the window. "Vincent'll think -" 

"Vincent knew what he was doing when he left," Cloud said, rolling away a little. Familiar was one thing, but it was hot in the small inn room. 

"Do you love him?" Zack asked, curious. 

Cloud shrugged. "I don't know." 

"Fair enough," Zack nodded, and swung his legs out of bed. He limped over to the water basin and poured in a measure of the tepid water in the pitcher, and began to clean himself up. He was just twisting his hair into a sloppy ponytail when he turned to see Cloud watching him, still in bed. "What?" 

"You haven't changed, have you?" Cloud put his chin in his hand, thoughtfully. "You never were ruffled by anything. You were always the normal one." 

Zack, at that precise moment, had been making a rather silly and disgusted face at himself in the mirror. "S'yeah, right I am, punk. You're the only one not hearing voices." He chucked Cloud's shirt at him. "C'mon. Let's go find out if I'm insane or not." 

  


Vincent had the trio of chocobos saddled and provisioned by the time Cloud and Zack thumped down the rickety wooden stairs of the inn, jostling each other like a pair of teenage boys. Zack frowned at the hot sticky air, and eyed Roni with suspicion as Cloud swung easily into the saddle. "Not looking forward to riding a hot feathery bird." 

"You know how, right?" Cloud asked. Zack looked affronted. 

"Of course I do." 

Vincent tossed him the reins to a pale gold female, and settled himself on a male so gold he almost looked bronze. "Am I correct that Gongaga used to be quite famous for breeding chocobos?" 

"Yeah." Zack clambered onto the bird with something a little less than grace, hampered by his leg. She warked disapproval at the undignified manner of his mounting. "Get over it," Zack told the chocobo, gathering her reins one-handed. "But," he continued, to Vincent, "all we ever had was standard yellow." He tucked his knees in behind her wings, settling his weight. "What do these babies do?" 

In answer, the chocobo shot off like a rocket, leaving the inn behind in a blur of color and motion. 

  


Air blew up from the crater, slightly warmer than the frigid temperature at the edge. Cloud shivered, looking down. 

"I don't even know how we're gonna get down there. It all crumbled as we were leaving." He kicked a clump of ice, watching as it rolled down the steep side. 

Zack, still sore from riding the chocobo that was standing fluffed against the cold, rubbed a had over his leg. The temperature was sinking into it painfully. "Well, I'm not exactly up to rappelling, if that's our only option." 

"We can get to the first level though that cave." Vincent pointed. "It should be mostly intact." His crimson eyes turned to Zack, who was staring down into the dark center of the crater. "You hear him now, don't you. Is he sane?" 

The former SOLDIER scowled. "I don't think any of us here are fair judges of sanity." Zack folded his arms across his chest, and limped heavily through the snow, past Vincent, to where Cloud stood waiting by the mouth of the cave. 

  


The world was made of greenfire ice, and beyond his frozen fingertips he could feel the slow heavy breath of the Planet, her sighs and mutterings, her slowing rage. 

She would not speak to him. 

Cold had always been a simple thing before. Cold was snow, or rain in the jungle, wet to the skin in a Wutai monsoon. Cold was the way they always had the air on too high in the Shinra building, cold was the narrow icy wind that seeped through the crevasses of Mount Nibel. Cold was an adjective. 

Not here, where cold was a thing he could taste on his tongue, where he could see the fine lines of frost across his own irises, where he could imagine the shattering of his body if he was to move too quickly, as brittle as birdbones. 

He remembered fire. Searing, too-hot, behind his eyes and inside his skull and the cool, smooth voice like water that took the burn away, that moved his fingers and eyes and mouth when he was still frozen inside, the fire inside his mind not melting the cool veneer of horror across his soul. Even when the blaze was quenched in the non-wet glow of liquid Mako, the voice continued, a soothing lullaby, a mantra to keep away the nightmares. Through the thick haze of his dreaming he could remember forcing out words, begging the planet to take him in, praying to just die, so he wouldn't feel the cold anymore, dangling limply like a puppet whose strings refused to snap. 

_Mother._

It had stopped, suddenly. And no memory of fire or warmth or coffee hot from the thermos in a Wutai monsoon could make his mind remember what it was to be warm, to be alive. 

_I will be one with the planet._

Ah, if it were only so easy, he would have gone long ago. 

Voices. Not so strange, to hear voices, spinning as he was in the eddies of the planet's own blood. The Girl came to speak to him, sometimes, but he was not With the Planet, and could not respond. Something fell heavily into the sphere of his existence, and he rocked in the wake of motion. There had been a time of great motion, years or days ago, when the world fell down. Stillness and cold since then; this sudden splashing riot was almost unwelcome. It stopped soon enough, and his closed face lifted once again to the cold light of the liquid around him, the ice sliding like a lover against his skin.

Fingers seized his wrist, warm and jarring. He was being pulled, and his soul protested at the motion, clawing to get back into the inertia he knew. But force propelled him upwards into brutal frigid air, and a mouth clamped hard over his, forcing his lungs to fill, to accept oxygen.

And Sephiroth used his first breath to scream.

  



	4. Chapter 4

_Before_.

"I hate this," Zack said, before Cloud could even ask. "It's like being a guinea pig, only not near so cute." 

"What are you doing?" Cloud said, forgetting completely about the specimen bottles he was supposed to be delivering to the lab. "Are you sick?" 

"Nah." Zack picked up a cup of water from the waiting room table, drained it, and tossed it into the nearby wastebasket. There were quite a few crumpled paper cups already in there. "Regular mako effect testing. Be glad you didn't make the cut, kid. You'd be pissing in a jar three times a week." He rifled though the papers on his clipboard, which were thick with type and pink carbon slips. Zack closed his eyes and signed something at random. "Aren't you supposed to drop those off?" 

"Oh." Cloud looked down at the crate in his arms. "Right." Cloud deposited the empty vials at the window and initialed the three delivery blanks. ShinRa was nothing if not heavy on the paperwork. 

"Hey, Strife--" Zack made a noise of disgust at one of the questions. "With _livestock_? Hell no, what sicko writes these things up? -- Where you headed?" 

"Back to patrol," Cloud said, unsubtly trying to see what the rest of the questions on Zack's clipboard were. He'd checked 'no' a lot. 

"Could you do me a favor?" Zack checked his watch, and scowled. "I'm gonna be late for my mission briefing, could you run up and tell Seph I'm stuck in the lab?" 

Cloud's stomach took a sudden drop. "Seph-- Sephiroth?" 

"Yeah. You know where his office is, right?" Zack rattled his watch back down his wrist, and scribbled his name in the blank at the bottom of the questionnaire. "Tell him I've gotta give some samples and I'll be up just as soon as they're done with me. He'll understand, he's had to do it enough himself." Zack tore off the top sheet and went on to the second one, and it was a moment before he realized Cloud was still standing there. "What are you waiting for? He's seen me with you, he knows who you are. Go on, I'll see you for dinner." He waved Cloud off, going back to his papers, and Cloud had no choice but to do as he was told. 

It really sucked to be outranked by your best friend. 

Sephiroth's office was on the 54th floor of the ShinRa building, in the military wing. Yes, Cloud knew where it was. Everybody knew where it was, and whose it was, even though his door was just as nondescript as every other standard-issue Shinra class-2 doorway on the floor. 

Cloud had never been less than 300 yards away from Sephiroth. He was not quite sure what he expected to find, behind that door, hanging in glory around the White General. Zack might laugh out loud in his presence and call him Seph, but Zack was not a grunt like the rest of the army, and he had once carried an injured Sephiroth on his back out of the jungle. It made for familiarity between the two of them, Cloud was sure, but Zack had a habit of forgetting that to the rest of the world, Sephiroth was just two steps shy of deity status. 

And to Cloud, maybe not even those two steps away. 

The door buzzer rang like any other, and Cloud wiped clammy hands on his pants, half hoping and half dreading that Sephiroth would not be in his office. 

"Come." 

No such mercy.

It was common, among the ranks, to wonder what The General was like on his own time. His office surely was the best in Midgar, no doubt stocked with trophies from his many victories, prizes from Wutai and exotic locations. 

It did in fact smell strongly of paint, and there were drop cloths on the floor. Masamune, the great black sword, lay sheathed across a low sheet-covered table. The general himself was sitting on a crate, balancing his laptop on his knees, long hair pulled back and wire-framed spectacles on the end of his nose. "Pardon the mess," he said, not looking up. "Why they can't redecorate when I'm gone is beyond me." 

Cloud simply goggled, his reason for coming flying entirely out of his head.

Sephiroth, who clearly expected to be informed immediately as to the reason for the intrusion, blinked up when there was no prompt delivery of message. "Yes, Boy? What is it?" 

Cloud shut his mouth with an audible noise. Spectacles and office furnishings be damned, nothing that looked like Sephiroth could be ordinary. "Zack'llbelatehe'sinthelab." Cloud said, and added, "Sir." 

Sephiroth smiled. 

Cloud wondered, for a wild second, if Sephiroth was prone to killing messengers. Then he thought maybe not, but he probably could read minds, and the resultant look on Cloud's face as he tried to both think and not think about the sword on the table was no doubt exceedingly comical. 

"Strife, isn't it?"

Cloud stopped breathing, then started again. "You-- you know who I am?" 

"Of course. You're Zack's friend. In the lab, did you say?" He didn't wait for confirmation, standing up and setting his laptop down on the crate. He lifted a few sheets, looking for his filing cabinet. Cloud's curiosity got the better of his common sense, and he sidled to the left a little to see what was on The General's screen. Battle plans, most likely. Or an important e-mail to the president. He found it was mostly text, in stanzas, the cursor blinking demurely at the end of the last line. 

_Beyond the dreams in ice  
Remember the voice of angels._

Sephiroth shut the file drawer with a bang and Cloud jumped, trying to find an innocuous place to rest his eyes. There was more he hadn't read, but Sephiroth stepped in front of the crate, blocking Cloud's view of the laptop screen. "Mission file. Take this down to him, Strife. He can come up and see me when he's done being leeched. Dismissed." 

Cloud accepted the manila file automatically, bowed, and left Sephiroth's office, all in a kind of daze. He wasn't sure why, but of all the unexpected things about Sephiroth, he found himself most surprised by the fact that the deadliest man in the world wrote poetry.

  


"Yuck," Zack said cheerfully, sitting down across from Cloud in the dining hall. "You aren't going to eat that, are you? What'd they call it?" 

Cloud looked at his slab-like entrée and prodded it with a spork. "Meatloaf." 

Zack wrinkled his nose, pulling the tray away. "You can't eat that, I've got to keep you alive. You're being shipped out day after tomorrow." He stood and dumped the tray in the nearest disposal, Cloud trailing after him. "C'mon, let's go to that place in Sector five. The Wutai one." 

"I'm being shipped out?" Cloud could not bring himself to be sorry about his appropriated dinner. "Why? Am I in trouble?" 

Zack shook his head. "Didn't you look at the mission file you brought me?" 

Cloud was indignant. "Of course not. It was confidential." 

Zack stopped short in the hallway, digging in his pants pocket for his keycard. "I swear, Strife. I think you're the only honest person in this outfit. We're heading out for Nibelheim, some kind of reactor inspection. I wrangled your name on the escort list, thought you'd like to go home." He looked up and caught Cloud's stunned expression. "...Maybe I thought wrong."

Cloud shook his head quickly. "No, no. It's not that. It's only that I'm not-- I said that I was gonna--" Cloud shut his mouth, waving a hand as if to erase his words. Zack waited patiently. "Forget it. Sorry." Cloud smiled, and it was only a little forced. "Thanks, Zack. It'll be good to see Mom again." 

Zack narrowed his eyes, appraising. "Hey, we all say we're gonna leave our backwater hometown and join SOLDIER, kid." Zack grinned, pulling Cloud into the elevator. "Take it from me, you should be glad not to be in it. It's no picnic." 

"Backwater home town?" Cloud was puzzled. "You aren't from Midgar?" 

Zack laughed. "I'm as far from Midgar as it gets." 

  
_After_.

Cloud should not have been surprised to find Reno waiting on the inn stairs. The Turks, these days, seemed to know everything that was going on, anywhere in the world, and it could hardly be hoped that a small thing like fishing Sephiroth out of the North Crater would have escaped their notice. 

"Hello, Cloud." Reno said amicably, as if he had never tried to drop half a city on Cloud's head. "Up here for a little skiing?" 

"What are you doing here?" Cloud demanded, knowing full well, and knowing he'd be damned before he let the Shinra get in his way. 

"We like to keep tabs on our employees," Reno said, bracing his foot on the banister and blocking Cloud's path. "Company policy." 

"Reno, quit provoking him." Tseng stepped out of the shadows at the top of the stairs, and Reno obediently dropped his leg to let him pass. "Mr. Strife. I trust you and your teammates are doing well?" 

Cloud scowled, not liking this one bit. "I still don't know what you're--" 

"Mr. Valentine," Tseng said, raising his voice slightly, "Informed us of your endeavor, here. We wished to have options available to us, and to... certain valued members of our company, if your efforts were successful. I do not think your people or ours wish to endanger what we are trying to rebuild?" 

The door a the top of the stairs opened and closed, and Zack blinked down at the scene below him. "It's okay, Cloud. They asked." 

"Not me, they didn't," Cloud grumbled, but Tseng had turned to look up at Zack. 

"Did you discuss the matter with him?" 

"I did." Zack limped down the steps, one at a time, grasping the rough-hewn banister for support. "I think he's willing to do it. I think he wants to, even. Vincent's talking to him now." 

"He's awake?" Cloud was sick and tired of being the last person to know things. "What about--" 

"My apologies, Mr. Strife." Tseng inclined his head. "We had hoped, if you and--" he nodded to the closed door at the top of the stairs, "--your guest were amendable to the prospect, that he would accept a position with us, again." 

Cloud stared. "You want to hire Sephi--" 

"Of course," Tseng said, purposefully overriding the name, "Only if he is in condition, mentally and physically, to be of use, and certainly no danger, to us or anyone else. I think Mr. Fair has confirmed that?" 

"It's all right, Cloud." Zack nodded, and Cloud could see the shadows under his eyes. No wonder the bed had been empty this morning. "I've been talking to him all night, me and Vincent. You can go and see him yourself, if you want." 

"I'm sure you understand the need for reliable communication in this day and age." As businesslike as Tseng was, it was still a bit hard to believe his casual tone, what with Reno standing behind him and absently twirling his nightstick. "We are working on a kind of network, to ensure a steady flow of information, with both our group and yours. We would like it if Mr. Fair and your guest were to join forces, as it were, and keep an eye on things for us. We have no one to monitor Costa Del Sol." 

"Now wait just a damn minute," Cloud said, taking a step up and discovering that Tseng was still taller. "Since when are you guys in charge of the planet? He's not going anywhere or doing anything until I'm convinced he's not going to try to drop another meteor on our heads, and--" 

"Cloud," Vincent interrupted from the landing, closing Sephiroth's door quietly behind him. "He wants to see you." 

  


Sephiroth's room was dark. They had brought him here, three days ago, wrapped up in blankets and Vincent's cape. The innkeeper might have been suspicious of their excuse that it was merely a friend of theirs who was sick. But Cloud had learned in recent months that his name and that of AVALANCE could pack a lot of wallop, especially when combined with a liberal amount of gil. 

Sephiroth slept for two days, fitfully, and Vincent or Zack was always there to keep an eye on him. Vincent, Cloud was glad to note, kept his gun loaded and on his knee the entire time. 

Cloud had requested not to be left in the room alone with him. Vincent and Zack had complied, without question. 

In the darkest corner of the room sat the man who still haunted Cloud's dreams, and his nightmares. His hair was paler than the snow filling up the window, and even in the darkness his eyes gleamed.

Cloud wished he'd brought his sword. 

"Hail the conquering hero," Sephiroth said, ruefully but without malice, lifting his head. His voice was hollower than Cloud remembered, as if he was recovering from illness. "It's no fun, is it, Cloud Strife?" 

"No," Cloud said, surprised his voice was so calm, that his hands did not tremble. "It's not. Was it always that way?" 

"Always," Sephiroth murmured, and folded long white hands in his lap. He was wearing a shirt and pants that Zack had scrounged, and they fit him awkwardly. It did not make him a fraction less intimidating. "Zack has told me much about you, Cloud Strife. And of the past five years." He stood, and Cloud could not help noticing that it was hard for him, that he was still weak. He picked out vulnerable spots instinctively, in his armpit and side and the open collar of his throat. 

"My apology will mean nothing to you." Sephiroth said, turning to Cloud. "And it will mean even less to those you are mourning. I will ask of you only one thing, which I have already asked of Zack. Is Jenova destroyed?" 

"Yes." Cloud found himself biting off the 'sir' before it could escape his mouth. There was so much of the General still in Sephiroth, even ill-dressed, even so weak as to seem transparent. "I did it myself." 

"Vincent Valentine has been able to tell me much of the nature of the Jenova Cells." Sephiroth moved to the window, and splayed a hand across the frosted glass. "The two of us are very much alike." He turned to Cloud, who had not moved from his position, two steps inside the room. "You don't trust me." 

"No," Cloud said.

"And yet you do not fear me, either, Cloud Strife." 

Cloud narrowed his eyes, knowing it was true. He was anxious, he was tense, he was on guard, but he was not afraid. "I've killed you before," he said, flatly. 

He had not expected for Sephiroth to look sad. "A pity your hard work should go to waste. Would you exterminate me now, and have done with it? There's a knife in your belt; it would suffice." 

Cloud considered. "No." 

"No? Surely you slept better thinking me dead." Sephiroth regarded him keenly. "And yet you won't kill me now?" 

"I'm not sure yet." Cloud drew the utility knife out of his belt, ran his thumb along the blade. "Vincent and Zack seem to trust you. They hear you, I don't. I'm not sure how much of what you did was really you; I'm not sure of your guilt. I'm not sure of a lot of things. It was easier when you were dead, but making you dead again won't answer any of my questions." Cloud slipped the knife back in its sheath. "It would only give me more things to lie awake over." 

Sephiroth raised his eyebrows. "A shame about your incompatibility with Mako, Cloud. You'd have made a good SOLDIER." 

Cloud felt rather suddenly as if he was trying to swallow a globe of materia. "Thank you, Sir." 

The silence, though awkward, was mercifully brief.

"It would seem you will have a chance to answer your questions. Did Zack tell you about the Shinra proposal?" 

"He mentioned it." 

Sephiroth sat down on the unmade bed, and gestured to the chair. "Sit down, Cloud Strife. Vincent and Zack have both told me the story, but I would have in your own words how you defeated the greatest general of all time." 

  


"You're honest." Sephiroth said. He had not interrupted, not once, until Cloud was finished. "Painfully so, I admit, but I'd rather that than untruth." He sighed. "I think I will do as I have been asked. There is, after all, very little other option. Zack has already requested a set of tracking materia, from the Turks. It will ensure that history does not repeat itself." Sephiroth's lips tightened. "In my present state, he is more than capable of overpowering me." 

"I trust Zack," Cloud said. "So I won't stop you." He stood up. "History will not repeat itself." Cloud's eyes brightened, as if the mako in his blood could sense his emotion. "I will make sure of that." 

Sephiroth nodded. There was, Cloud supposed, little he could say in response. 

"If that's all," Cloud said, scenting escape, "I'll go and get Zack." 

"Wait." 

Cloud stopped, his hand on the latch. "Yes?" 

"I have a favor to ask of you." Sephiroth reached up, and with one hand deftly lifted the white mass of his hair. "They will let me have nothing with an edge, and I fear I am too conspicuous as I am. So if you would, please, make some good use of that knife of yours?" 

It seemed to take a long time for Cloud to turn around. Sephiroth waited, sitting patiently on the corner of the bed. He lowered his head when Cloud approached, and his hair slid over his shoulders like a glacier over stone. 

"Are you sure?" Cloud had never touched Sephiroth before, not with his bare hands. Not since his days in the ranks had he thought about Sephiroth's hair, the way it reflected any color around it, the way it moved as he walked. He remembered asking Zack about it, only once. Zack had only said that Sephiroth was beautiful, and he'd be beautiful no matter what, and that was that. "Are you certain?" 

"It's a small thing, but I cannot go undetected without it." He indicated a line, just above his shoulders. "Try to make it even, if you would." 

Sephiroth's hair was softer than Cloud thought it would be, and heavy. Cool, too, as he gathered it in one-handed. He pulled the knife from his belt, thought of beating wings, and in one motion drew the blade across. 

Sephiroth tipped his head forward a bit at the sudden absence of weight, and he reached up to rifle his fingers through his hair. There was no mirror in the room, but Sephiroth went to the window and studied his pale reflection in the frosted glass. "It will do. Thank you." He turned, and reached out his hand. 

Cloud started. He'd forgotten he was still holding four feet of perfectly white hair, neatly severed above his fist. 

"My name will not suffice, I have been thinking of a suitable replacement." Sephiroth ran his fingers over the detached length of his hair before opening the window and letting the brisk icy wind bear the strands away. "And Reno has an idea for how best to conceal my eyes. It will not be easy, but people are prone to believing what they want to believe." Sephiroth shut the window firmly. "As you have cause to know, Cloud." 

"Why?" Cloud asked, looking at the three pale hairs that had caught on his fingers. "Why did you have me do this, and not Zack?" 

"I should think it was obvious." Sephiroth's expression was the closest to a smile that Cloud had yet seen. "You are the man who killed Sephiroth. It wouldn't do for you to leave the job unfinished." 

  
_Before._

It had been in October, Cloud remembered. That first October of basic training, when the sky whipped up dark storms off the ocean and it would rain all weekend and they would play cards in the barrack lounge until they had nothing left to bet with but pinups of favorite porn stars. Good guys, most of them. Like Cloud. Nothing special. 

But it didn't rain only on the weekends, and it made for a miserable post by the cargo entrance of the base, a boring sentry duty worsened by a sincere lack of shelter. Cold rain drizzled down the collar of his uniform until only the prospect of hot shower water on his skin and a cup of instant coffee and crawling under the blankets on his bunk got him though the hours of the day. His gun on his shoulder was an aching weight, and he was certain he'd never feel his toes or nose again. 

The SOLDIER hadn't been wearing a raincoat, arms outstretched to the rain, head tilted back, the dark grey top of his uniform drenched by the downpour. His arms looked cold, bare to the rain, slick and shining under streetlights that were coming on before lunch on those stormy days. Ah, god, but he was one of _them_ , and Cloud watched every move he made. 

"Shitty duty, huh?" 

It took Cloud a moment to realize he was being spoken to. "Huh?" he blinked. "Sir?" 

"Gotta be. How long before you're off?"

Cloud fumbled for his watch under his glove, trying not to drop his gun, rubbing his thumb over the fogged-up crystal. "Twenty minutes." 

The SOLDIER leaned against the chain-link fence, and it sagged slightly beneath his back. "What barracks you in?" 

"Thirty-six, sir." Cloud tried not to sniffle. 

He made a disparaging noise, and Cloud wondered frantically if he'd given the wrong answer, if this was some test of base security. "Sweet Shiva, that's miles away. C'mon. Come with me." 

"But I--" Cloud looked to the sentry in the box by the gate, a warm, dry post compared to his own. The sentry scowled, but then saw the SOLDIER and nodded, waving a hand at Cloud. 

"Go on, Striff, If he needs ya." 

"It's Strife, sir," Cloud muttered, but splashed eagerly after the SOLDIER waiting for him by the gate. 

"Strife, is it?" 

Cloud nodded, shifting the weight of his gun and trying to keep up with the long strides of his companion. "Cloud Strife, Sir." 

He shook rain out of his hair, and grinned at Cloud over his wet shoulder. "Zack Fair." 

Cloud knew who he was, but had never seen him, much less expected to be bustled up to his private apartment in the SOLDIER dormitory as if he was a childhood friend, ushered into the bathroom with plentiful hot water, told to take as long as he needed, given a dry bathrobe and hot cheese soup that didn't come out of a ration tin. 

Zack never told him why he did it. Cloud supposed that he could have just wanted company for the night; it never occurred to him that a guy like Zack could ever possibly be lonely. And later that night, in a warm soft bed three times the size of the one in his barracks, it never occurred to Cloud that he might have been chosen for any reason besides chance.

It seemed to make up for all the bad luck of the rest of his life. 

He remembered lying still well after midnight, with the rain still flowing down the window and filling the room with watered-down streetlight. He wondered if maybe Zack picked one every night, to press warm underneath him and kiss and touch and slide into, to make fall in love with him. He couldn't know, then, that one day he would be able to count on his fingers the number of nights afterwards that he'd spent alone, and that Zack would come to get him whether it rained or not. 

  
_After_.

"You know, usually when someone looks like that they're gonna be at the bar all night." 

Cloud stirred, the stiffness in his backside enough to tell him he'd been drifting. "Sorry. Musta dozed off for a sec." 

It was raining in Costa del Sol. October. Beginning of the off-season, and late afternoon. The bar was empty. "You want a refill?" Zack tapped the empty glass with one finger, and Cloud rubbed at his eyes. 

"No thanks," Cloud rubbed his eyes. "I'm fading out as it is." 

Zack refilled the glass anyway, three fingers full of cool amber liquid, and drank it himself. The wind blew outside, rattling the shutters on the windows. "I think I'm gonna close up," Zack said, to the glass in his hand. "Nobody in town is coming out in this mess." 

Cloud looked at the rain-spattered windows, and shivered. "I don't blame them. Although it is better than snow." 

"I always wanted to live someplace warm." Zack dumped the ice into the sink behind the bar, washing the glass with quick efficient motions. "Gongaga never really got cold, but hell, that first winter in Midgar? Thought I was gonna die." 

Cloud traced patterns on the polished surface of the bar, looking for images in the wood grain. 

"I noticed you haven't asked yet," Zack said, nudging the glass into place beside its fellows. "Or did you just come all the way down here for the cocktail specials?"

Cloud looked up, and folded his hands. "...How is he?"

Zack shrugged. "He's quiet. He goes out on the beach a lot, after dark, and just watches the water. He has nightmares--" Zack reached up to fidget with the tracking materia dangling around his neck, "--that is, _we_ have nightmares, now and then."

Cloud looked up at the clean rows of glasses, the ceiling fan reflected a thousand times over, twirling on their surfaces. "But he hasn't--"

"No," Zack said. "He hasn't." 

Cloud sighed. "I still don't know, Zack." 

Zack leaned his elbows on the counter. "Do any of us, kid?" 

Cloud shook his head. "I guess not." 

Zack pushed himself up, and made his way to the front door. He grunted, pulling down the large crossbeam that served as a lock. The neon sign in the window said 'Darklighter's' in bright mako green, and it glowed dimly for a moment after Zack clicked it off. "Listen, Cloud. I know you weren't too keen on this idea, but I think it's gonna be okay." 

Cloud waved a hand around the bar. "You seem to be doing pretty well." 

"Yeah, well, Tifa gave me a few pointers." Zack ruffled his hair, and yawned. "Listen, I don't suppose you've got a chocobo you could loan me? I'd like to make a trip, and I really don't want to hassle the Shinra for a ride." 

"Sure." Cloud slithered off the bar stool. "I'll loan you Roni. Cid's coming through here next week, I'll have him drop him off."

"Thanks. And thanks for the villa, too. It's nicer than what I thought we'd get." 

Cloud shrugged. "I wasn't using it. Hey, Zack. You never told me what Sephi-" 

Zack, halfway up the stairs, shot him a sharp look. 

"Sorry. You never told me what name he'd decided to go under." 

"Right." Zack grinned. "He wasn't sure about it, but I told him I thought it suited him." Zack looked up the stairs, and Cloud saw his gaze move inward, as if he was looking north again. "Frost." 

  


Who would be knocking at this hour, she had no idea. It was well past dark, and none of the neighbors were prone to visiting after nightfall. Her husband had fallen asleep in his chair, too tired to make it into bed, and she was just finishing the dishes and looking forward to a bit of a sit-down herself. She wiped her hands hastily on a dishtowel and hurried to the door, grumbling as she pulled the bolt back. 

If it was that good for nothing boy from the shop again, she'd have to tell him that if he wanted welding done he'd best wait until morning, when the forge was open. Hard working people needed their rest, she thought, slinging back the door. Especially now, with all of them barely scraping a living--

The person on the doorstep was unfamiliar in the dark, an anonymous shape leaning heavily against the gate-post. Some drunk, more than likely, trying to come home to the wrong door. 

"Now see here, young man," she said crisply, "I'll not have--"

"Ma?" the figure shifted, and the light from her meager hearth fell on the stranger's face, reflected strangely in his unnatural eyes. 

Mrs. Fair gave a soft sort of scream and put her trembling hands to her mouth. "Merciful gods..." 

Zack let his rucksack fall on the porch. "Um, I'm home." 

  



End file.
